If you’ve got the FIFA Football fever, you’ve probably watched the Argentina vs Austria match where Messi broke the World Cup goals record for most career goals in World Cup. And so many other energetic games that are being played across USA, Canada and Mexico over the past few days.

As someone who hasn’t watched a single goal being played live, I’ve also caught the FIFA Football fever. Its just not the kind you would expect.

Last week, my 21 year old came to my desk, asked me to move my fingers off the keyboard and typed in the “Dear Roxxane” into a new browser tab. He insisted that I read this piece urgently. I told him that I was in the middle of something and will get to it. Later, as I finished reading the article I could hear him in the other room and was barely able to whisper, “Thank you Ky.”

He walked over and hugged me, as we sat looking at the screen together. And perhaps because he knew I might eventually write about it, he gave me translations of what the game and the gear is known as in the rest of the world vs. American English.

“Amma, football is soccer, boots are cleats, kit is jersey.”

Yan Diomande opens his essay about his love for the game and his dream to one day become the greatest at the game. But his story is not just another athlete’s origin story. It is an emotional account of profound loss and an unshakeable bond with his sister, whom he lost after someone allegedly tampered with her drink at a party.

One of the most striking experiences of life happened to me when I was teaching virtual robotics and coding online. At the peak of the COVID pandemic in 2021, I logged into Zoom each day to teach children from 25 different countries. As I taught learners from vastly different backgrounds, I gained a glimpse into their worlds and circumstances.

I taught the richest of the rich in China and the poorest of the poor in Honduras. In Mexico, I remember a young girl in my Python gaming class coding on a phone because it was the only device available to her. I could see her one room home where family members constantly moved in and out, occasionally taking the phone for something they needed to do. Yet she remained online for my one hour class, as she followed along and build the games I was teaching.

Diomande comes from a world that resembles many of those stories. Growing up in Abidjan in Côte d’Ivoire, he shared a home with more than a dozen people, played football in plastic sandals, and stole potatoes to survive hunger. His love for the game and for Cristiano Ronaldo and his powerful shots earned him the nickname Roberto Carlos.

“Remember when I got my first real football boots, and I used to sleep with them? Growing up, I always played in those white plastic sandals. Even when I go back home now, I still play in them. It’s our tradition.”

He recalls what he jokingly called a “bank heist.”

“Two kids distracting the shop owner, and 18 other kids running out with two potatoes. They weren’t even good. But they tasted amazing. Hahahah. It’s still my favorite thing to eat. Boiled potatoes with some oil. It reminds me of those times.”

His sister Roxane was his biggest fan and supporter. She would guard his brother after his initial successes, telling everyone that “Yan is not going to buy you cars.”

Their dreams were shared dreams.

“Remember how we used to sit and dream about moving to France? How we were going to go shopping and get our own apartment and I was going to be a rich footballer with cars and a big house, and you wouldn’t have to worry about nothing. You were the one who always believed that I could be the next Cristiano, when everybody else laughed.”

Then came a phone call.

“I picked up, and they didn’t even soften it. You know how it is back home. No emotions. Just…

‘Your sister is gone.’

‘What?’

‘She died.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Somebody put something in her drink at a party, and she never woke up. She is gone.’

You were 15.

Fifteen.”

This story is not just about football. It exposes the invisible sacrifices in talent pipelines, where young athletes chase enormous dreams while leaving behind families whose circumstances often remain unchanged. It reveals the stark juxtaposition between the lives they build and the lives they leave behind.

In an era of highlight reels and hyper-commercialized sports, stories of players like Diomande reminds us of the humanity behind the headlines. That these are real people carrying immense emotional burdens alongside extraordinary ambition. His story is a testament to the painful contrast between achieving an impossible dream and living with irreplaceable loss.

I don’t know what these young men endure on and off the field, but the spirit of togetherness they’re inspiring within their countries is mighty impressive. Not to mention the feeling that maybe all these good vibes that have come to America will last long and create an ecosystem globally that will thrive for a long time to come.

If his story moves you, it’s because it should. This is not simply about football as much as it is about the beautiful game of sustaining life through both its worst and best moments. Diomande and his sister remind us that, in the game of life, love and resilience are the real victories.

As a tribute to the game and his sister, Diamonde promises to continue his pursuit of greatness, even if his number one fan is no longer here to witness it. A user commented with a quote from Drake, “Cos what’s a star when your most important fan is missing?”

“My brother is going to be the greatest in the world.” Roxane had predicted for her brother.

And Diamonde vows to, “I will prove that you were right, or I will die trying.”

Please read this article, along with many other remarkable stories published by The Players’ Tribune. Diomande’s essay, “Dear Roxane,” is unforgettable and can be found HERE.

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Observations, Opinions, and Cultural Critique

Cultural Essays from a Life Lived Between Worlds